


Take me home…or I'll take you home, or we'll take each other home.

by Amand_r



Category: Torchwood
Genre: DRUNK!FIC, M/M, porn battle challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-07
Updated: 2011-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-17 17:34:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amand_r/pseuds/Amand_r
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jack," Ianto said.  He exhaled.  "I'm very drunk."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take me home…or I'll take you home, or we'll take each other home.

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline:** sometime after KKBB, before Reset.

"opebn mw aspppap," read the title of the email. Jack looked at the address to make sure that he'd read it properly: Jones, Ianto. Yeah, that was who he'd thought it was. When he opened the email, it was empty, but there was an attachment.

A video attachment. He smiled. Ianto had taken to shooting short videos and sending them to him, often with his wry commentary in the background. Nothing porntastic, no, just little things like, some woman's arse as he walked behind her ('Sometimes Jack, I really do think there is a divine creator…'), or a scary man in the park dancing with an accordion ('There but for the grace of Torchwood, goeth Owen.'), or once, a display at the grocer's with a very unfortunate typo, which Ianto had corrected on the spot, hand reaching out from behind the camera with a magic marker to deface the sign ("There's quite a difference between these two words., and one of them leads to a venereal disease.')

Jack clicked 'play' absentmindedly while he shuffled a stack of papers with his other hand.

"Jack," Ianto said very close to the microphone. Too close. The speakers buzzed. "Jaaaaaaaack." As if he expected him to answer.

The Blackberry was pointed poorly at Ianto's face, as if he was merely flipping it about and aiming for where he thought his face was, and really, Jack just got a good view of his forehead. But it was Ianto's hair, and it was Ianto's voice.

"Jack Jack Jack," Ianto slurred. "Owen just set a whole row of shot glasses filled with liqueur on fire and then he downed them all. He's quite mad." Jack sat back and crossed his arms. He'd told Owen to go and get Ianto soused, but he hadn't expected that Ianto would be sending him drunken videos. Apparently, he was sober enough to be able to operate electronic equipment; from what Jack understood of 21st century communications technology, Ianto probably didn't need to be sober at all.

"Jack," Ianto said. He exhaled. "I'm very drunk."

This was not news. Someone said something to Ianto. It sounded like Owen.

"I _know_ , sod off," Ianto said to whomever it was. And then louder, so it was probably aimed at him: "I'm going to stick this down my trousers," Ianto said, and then the view dipped and Jack watched as the phone got close to something flesh-coloured, what he could make out as the hair of Ianto's lower belly, and then the view went dark, and there were the muffled noises of the phone mike brushing against jeans, against skin.

Jack snorted. What people thought was sexy when they were drunk was sometimes rather silly. He couldn't see anything. But he could imagine plenty.

The phone whipped out suddenly. Jack got a very fast and blurry survey of the room, enough to see that it was filled with people. "You should come get me Jack," Ianto slurred. "I know I'm drunk, but really, you should come get me, because I think." He stopped, as if he was done, and Jack waited. It would come. "I think I might be willing to try that thing with the vacuum attachments. No wait, no. I'm not that drunk."

Jack had no idea what he was talking about. He checked his watch: two-thirty.

The background was moving, and the noise was lessening, so Ianto was walking away from the crowd of the pub. "Okay, wait, I'm in the loo." There was a jostling, and then the phone flipped, and he could see Ianto standing in front of the mirror, camera pointed at it. Ianto stared at the Blackberry screen for a second, and then, when he was sure that he was centred, he glanced up at the mirror. It wasn't steady at all, but that was okay. Jack could fully see that his jeans were still unbuttoned, his shirt haphazardly untucked, and those lips looked like they'd been kissed. That part was hard to tell.

"Jack," Ianto said in a much lower voice, a much more sober voice. "I'm drunk. I think I'd like to fuck you into the mattress, and you know I'd do it sober, so it's consensual." He leant towards the mirror, and the phone slipped so that all he could see were Ianto's eyes and his hair, that sexy hair all mussed, probably because a load of large-breasted women had been all over it with their painted nails and lips. There was a smudge of red lipstick on his hairline. "Con _sensual_."

Well, that was witty.

"Come and get me." Ianto barked a laugh. "Come, that's funny. Get and come me, Jack."

The video went black.

Jack hit the off button on the computer without shutting it down properly. He was in a hurry.

***

Ianto was sat on a bench outside of the pub when he got there. His feet were splayed and he was hunched over what looked like a packet of chips. Jack was pretty sure that he'd already forgotten the phone message. Owen was nowhere in sight.

Jack shuffled over and sat down next to him on the bench.. "Hi."

Ianto reared back and looked at him, startled. "Oh hello," he said. "I have chips."

Jack smiled. Ianto held out the packet and offered them to Jack, who took one and twirled it in his fingers. "I can see that. Where is your keeper?"

Ianto threw the chips in the bin next to him, turning to Jack. "He went home with this woman." His eyes widened. "Her tits were like," he mimed some sort of large fruit, mid-cantaloupe to honeydew range. Jack felt his eyebrows raise. "I knew Owen had a way with the ladies, but he's." Ianto smiled. "He's fucking magic."

Jack smiled and threw an arm around Ianto, feeling a small tag of satisfaction when Ianto leant into it and sighed into his neck. "Yeah, Owen has a pretty impressive bag of tricks." He stopped. "He didn't have that spray, did he?"

Ianto's mouth was dangerously close to Jack's skin, and he shivered when Ianto's breath caught on it. "No, just his cad-like ways." He smiled; Jack could feel it. "Birds always go for the bad ones."

Jack laughed. "Now I know the two of you were out together, if you're calling them birds."

"I called them birds because they flit-flit-flitted about," Ianto said. One of his hands slid down his leg, wiping chip residue off his fingers, perhaps, maybe just reveling in the tingle of drunken skin. Jack remembered what that was like. "Even before Owen gave me that one drink. With the glowstick. Everyone was so busy, hopping from table to table."

Jack nodded and watched a pair of lovers stumble out of the pub across the street and stagger to the waiting queue of taxis. "That's the pulling scene for you," he said mildly. He remembered that, too.

Ianto's hands finally stopped molesting his own leg and moved to Jack's, bypassing the thigh and dancing straight to his cock. "I need something less flighty, less frantic," he said. His fingers stuttered over the zipper, and Jack crossed his legs, wondering if they oughtn't go to the SUV and have it off there, or if he should take Ianto home and just pretend that they had sex the next day. Or pretend that they hadn't had sex. Or just wait for Ianto to make up the story for them; he was good at that, telling whole stories with about five words, a cup of coffee and his eyebrows.

"I think you might need a bed," Jack said mildly. "You're trashed."

Ianto fell away from him and leant back against the bench. "Yup."

Jack stood, offering a hand to him. "Come on, Tiger Pants, let's get you horizontal."

Ianto just beamed.

***

It wasn't that Jack _didn't_ think they'd have sex later in the evening, it was more like he was waiting for Ianto to a) sober up and realize that he was too drunk to do anything like this b) fall asleep on the ride home or in the middle of foreplay c) forget about the sex part when he got home and discovered his CD collection. Alex used to do that: sex sex sex, on the way home from the pub and then BAM! Nothing but Coltrane.

On the other hand, that was okay too. Jack was nothing if not patient, and hangover sex could be just as good, when they were in the shower and holding their heads (well, Ianto would be holding his own head, but Jack would commiserate) and groaning and smiling sheepishly, and the morning would be full of slow and lazy kisses, the kind that didn't jostle the head, and then Jack could suck Ianto gently on his knees, or ride him in the middle of the bed, still painted with the pub smell and the taste of stale alcohol coming from his pores. If Jack licked his neck, he could get drunk himself.

Now, he let Ianto try to unlock his own door because the ritual seemed very important to him. It took several tries for his hand to get the key in the lock, and then he thrust the door in so sharply that he tripped through the entrance, tossing his keys on the floor. Jack stooped to pick them up and deposit them in the bowl on the side table.

"I'm drunk," Ianto told him gravely, his face as sober as the rest of him wasn't. "It's been a while."

Jack nodded. "I bet." He shut the door and watched Ianto take off his jacket and miss the hook on the wall before turning back to him, his face smiling and silly.

Ianto leant into him, and his mouth circled Jack's, almost, but never quite hitting the mark, his lips just out of reach. That wasn't drunkenness. That was Ianto the flirt. Jack wasn’t that patient.

Ianto's mouth tasted like scotch and beer, and his lips still held a little salt from the chips, and that was just fine, actually, like some sort of foreign drink Jack'd once had, glass rimmed in salt. Ianto's hands curled around the lapels of the coat and Jack let Ianto push him into the wall.

"You got my email," Ianto mumbled as he undid Jack's belt and pulled it right out of the loops. He liked to do that sometimes, just yank and whip it like he was Zorro or something, flinging it across the room, a dull thunk of the buckle hitting the far wall.

Jack's fingers scrabbled a little on Ianto's button down. "Yeah."

"Everything I said and did in that video, I'm going to do to you," Ianto growled. Jack wondered what that meant. And whether or not there were parts that he'd missed.

"You're going to put me down your trousers?" he joked, but apparently Ianto was serious, because he grabbed Jack's wrists and pressed his hands into the open fly of his jeans, so that he could make out the hot skin there, the heat of Ianto's cock in his shorts, tight things that encased him. God, those boxer briefs. Jack closed his eyes and thought about Ianto's arse in those things.

Ianto pressed his forehead into Jack's shoulder. "I'm going to fuck you, Jack Harkness." He smiled. "Fuck you until you're just as drunk as I am."

Jack smiled into Ianto's hair. Oh, what a lovely thought. Everything Ianto said tonight was half-possible, half-not. "Okay then. Let's do that."

It was fifteen steps to the bedroom, and that was fifteen too many, really, because then there were six more after that to the bed, and by the time they got there, Ianto's hands were in a stranglehold on his neck as he tried to keep his balance and walk while Jack was stepping him out of his jeans. A few more leg shakes and Jack's trousers were gone as well, and then shirts were draped artistically on doorknobs and bedposts. Ianto swore at his socks and gave up on them, one half still on, the other untouched; Jack manipulated his off with his toes as he writhed under Ianto on the bed.

Ianto was heavier than normal as he sat on him, his hands scrambling along the sheets to pull himself over to the nightstand, looking for lube and condoms, no doubt. His breathing was ragged and his cock was impossibly hard, no alcohol related issues for him, oh no. Jack smiled into the dimness as he heard Ianto drop the bottle and curse. He grunted when Ianto slid off him and rolled to the side of the bed, almost falling off as he groped about on the floor. One of his feet caught Jack in the chest.

"Hey there," Jack warned. "Kicking isn't sexy unless it's planned for."

Ianto tossed the lube behind him on the bed and then levered himself up, managing to roll himself right back where he was. He sat back and grinned, slapping his hands on his thighs. Jack recognized the rhythm from an old popular song, probably stuck in Ianto's head from the pub. He lay there and let Ianto amuse himself, wondering if he'd been forgotten for the siren call of music, or if Ianto would eventually get back to him. If he forgot, he'd owe Jack one.

Ianto slid his drumming hands down his thighs and onto Jack's stomach, played his way up Jack's ribs and onto his head before he grasped Jack's hair and pushed, tilting so that he could lean forward and lay a series of kisses and bites on the exposed neck. Jack's hands finally reactivated and he grasped Ianto's cock in one fist.

Ianto smiled into his mouth. "I meant it. Everything."

Jack smiled. "I think you said something about fucking me into this mattress."

Ianto bit his lower lip and pulled before letting it go, straightening and flipping his leg off Jack; his fingers dug into Jack's side impatiently, trying to flip him. "All right then. We have structural integrity to test here." When Jack laughed and obeyed, turning over, Ianto hummed behind him, and there was the snikt of the lube cap flipping open. "Or is it the other thing? Fucking one _into_ the mattress doesn't sound nearly as appealing once one begins to think about it on a molecular bonding level."

Jack raised one leg, bending his knee and curling it in front of him. It felt exposing, like he was begging for it, though he guessed he probably was, what with Ianto wanting to apparently _rock his world_. Someone's hands were pointedly absent, and Jack looked behind him. Ianto was lubing himself up and studiously talking to his cock, as if he were giving himself a lecture. "There might be harmonic frequencies that could facilitate the cohesion of excited atoms, or something, right?" He glanced up at Jack and smiled weakly. "I couldn't fuck you into the mattress."

Jack smiled. "Not unless you're from Klum." He reached for Ianto and succeeded in grabbing one of the man's hands.

Ianto was on him, his cock hard and suddenly just _in him_ , and that was hot, Jack decided as he arched and rubbed his cock into the sheets. Ianto had one hand hooked behind Jack's knee, and he rocked his body into him, more simply pushing rather than pulling out in strokes of any length. Jack grunted when the weight hit him, chuckled when Ianto swore under his breath.

"I have the worst song stuck in my head," Ianto said, grinding the phrase out in between thrusts. "It's horrid. Something about big butts."

If Jack could say anything about drunk!Ianto, it was that he was an amusing bedroom conversationalist. He reached forward with his free hand and stroked his cock; god, he wanted to come, his body felt bent up and tense like this, trapped under the weight of the other man, and Ianto was just going to keep moving like this—

"I'm good for that," Ianto said, his own hand clasping over Jack's and pumping a little. "Anyway, the butt thing. I think the singer quite liked them." He pulled out a bit, then shoved himself more violently into Jack, and they both groaned. "I don't think I can blame him on that account." His hand stroked over Jack's own before coming to rest on the head of his cock and rub his thumb over the tip of it.

Jack smiled into the pillow. "Well," he gasped. "It's—" Ianto bit his ear and Jack found himself rather humping into his own hand, stuttering and pumping his hips to get Ianto to move faster. "It's underrated in current pop songs, I think."

Ianto drew in a ragged breath, and anything he was about to say cut off when he sped up his rhythm, the dead signal that he was going to come. But he didn't. Maybe Ianto was one of those people who lasted longer when they were drunk. He was about to ask, when Ianto thrust a few more times and came. Ah. Revelation. Jack laughed out loud when Ianto batted his hand away from his cock and brought him in quick succession, whispering the lyrics to Sir Mix-a-Lot's mythic opus into his ear.

Later, after Ianto was clean and tucked in bed with a bottle of water and paracetamol by the bedside, Jack stopped in the doorway for a second and watched him snore. In the kitchenette, he dug about in Ianto's fridge for bread and cheese. He closed the door with his hip and tossed the items on the counter before he realised that he was mumbling under his breath, " _36-24-36? Ha ha, only if she's 5'3"._ "

Jack snorted as he made himself a sandwich. It figured. It'd be stuck there all night.

END


End file.
